Dark Universe Series: Prison Break.

Chapter 5.

Scott pulled off the road into the layby, glancing at his watch again, even though he knew perfectly well what the time was. He was early. It was a character trait that annoyed his brothers, he knew, but one that had allowed him to get the jump on them time-and-time again, and it was so ingrained that now he turned up early for everything, whether it made sense to or not.

He'd managed to get Jeff off the island yesterday. But his father wouldn't be fooled for long by his chief exec's engineered crisis. It was important that they succeeded today. It would be absolutely fine, he told himself, so long as everyone stuck firmly to The Plan.

Scott worried a little about this. He had his brothers pretty well trained, by-and-large, but there was always the danger that someone, someone would decide to think for himself, or introduce some new and unexpected element to The Plan.

He sighed – which turned into a yawn - wound down the windows, and tilted back the driver's seat. Then he stretched out his legs, turned his baseball cap back down to shield his eyes, and leaned back to soak up the Californian sun. But he wasn't an idiot. He set the alarm on his watch, just in case he dropped off.

It was a back road, and very, very quiet. So Scott was a little surprised when ten minutes later a car drew in in front of him. The passenger door opened. A hand reached out, bundle in hand. The bundle was deposited on the ground. The hand withdrew itself and the car sped off.

Scott frowned, a little puzzled by this behavior. He hated litter louts.

At length, curiosity and a slightly over-egged sense of civic duty led him to step out of his car and cross to the bundle.

As he neared, the bundle moved a little. Scott approached cautiously. A curious mewling sound emerged from the rags.

He knelt down and drew back the material, an old piece of toweling. Wrapped inside was a writhing heap of very young kittens.

Scott didn't know much about cats. But he was pretty sure that the kittens were too small to be away from their mother and certainly too small to survive for long in the Californian desert.

Cursing, he wrapped them up again and carried them carefully back to his car. Inside he inspected them. He poked around to separate them out and found five in total.

"Great," he muttered, glancing at his watch. The nearest town was twenty miles away. There was no way he could get there and still make the prison on time, even if he was lucky enough to find someone who would take the cats.

He glanced down at the mewling bunch. "Don't suppose any of you guys been to jail before?" he asked.

…

"John! Johnnie! Psst – over here!"

John looked askance across the exercise yard, then ducked and squinted as though trying to see from a different angle. "Virg – is that you?"

"Sure it's me. Who in hell did you think it was?"

"Sorry. I didn't recognize you in disguise."

"What disguise?"

"You mean that beard's real?"

Virgil was perplexed. "Of course it's real. Joh…"

"Well, how long have you had it?"

"You know, you're beginning to sound like Dad."

"I wouldn't know. What are you doing in here, anyway?"

"Five to ten for aggravated robbery."

"Be serious!"

Virgil glanced about to check there was no-one within earshot. "I'm here to get you out, idiot."

John was clearly puzzled. "Don't you have to be on the outside to do that?"

Virgil rolled his eyes. For such a bright guy, Johnnie could sure be slow to catch on sometimes. "I'm the man on the inside. The other guys are on the outside. Scott has a…"

"Hey, Johnnie!"

"Hey, Jerome!"

A very big man with dreadlocks and several fierce looking piercings jogged past them.

"Who's that?" Virgil asked, alarmed.

"Jerome? He's a lifer. Most of the folks on this block are doing serious time. Lovely, lovely man." John sounded sincere.

Virgil gazed after him. "Do these guys give you any trouble, Johnnie?" His tone of voice suggested that anyone who had laid a finger on his kid brother was in for a really nasty comeuppance.

"Trouble? Nah! Most of them are as meek as lambs."

Virgil couldn't detect any sarcasm in his brother's voice. "Really?" he asked, disbelievingly.

"Yeah. Lots of them get religion when they're in here. Not much else to do, really. Take Bernard over there." John gestured in the direction of a man sitting in the lotus position in the middle of the compound, oblivious to the fact that a baseball game was being played all around him. "He's discovered Zen Buddhism. Zack and Jose – sorry, Ali and Ishmael – over there, have converted to Islam." He waved to two men standing away off, debating intently over the Quran each held in his hands. They waved back.

"A lot of people are born-again Christians," John continued. "There are lots of really nice people in here."

"R…ight." Virgil said carefully. He began to steer his brother as casually as he could towards the bleachers at the far end of the exercise compound.

"Yes. Well. As I was saying, Scott has a plan to rescue you."

John sighed, deeply.

"What's the matter?" Virgil asked.

"It's just…I'm not sure I want to be rescued."

"What?" Virgil asked helplessly.

"I quite like it here."

"You do?' Virgil frowned.

"I've got lots of friends."

To prove the point, another jogger greeted them as he approached. "How y'doin' this fine day, Johnnie?"

"Good, Karl, good."

"Who's yer friend?"

"This is my brother Virgil, Karl."

Karl smiled encouragingly. "Any brother of Johnnie's is a friend o'mine. Welcome, Virgie-boy."

The brothers deposited themselves on the bleacher. "Such a nice man," John said. "Good heart, you know?"

"What did he do?"

"Blew up an IRS building."

Virgil considered. This really didn't seem like such a bad thing.

"Anyway, to come back to the point," John continued. "I've got lots of friends here. The guards let me do my research. The university posts me all the data I need. I'm dry and warm and I get three hot meals a day. There's no Father. There's no Scott. So thanks, but no thanks."

Virgil considered some more. Put like that, he was beginning to wonder whether he wanted to escape himself.

He shook himself. This was not a viable line of rumination. Scott was coming to get them out, and only a complete fool would try to interfere with that. He needed to convince John that getting out was a good idea. Virgil thought quickly. How would Scott handle this?

"Thing is, John, we need you," he said firmly. "Dad's starting up a rescue outfit and Scott wants us all on board with it."

"All of us?"

"All of us," Virgil reiterated. "And that," he reached over and poked John emphatically in the chest, "means you, brother."

John winced.

"We're building a space station," Virgil said, "and you" he prodded John again "are going to be in charge of it."

"I am?" John asked.

Virgil was getting into this. "You," – poke – "are going to be the lynch-pin of the entire organization. You're going to train to be a cosmonaut." Poke. "You'll have your own space station, and be able to do all that research in space in your spare time. But you" – poke – "are going to save lives, and you" – poke – "are going to have the time of your life doing it!"

"Okay!" John said. He looked a little flushed and rubbed his chest. "I'll do it."

"Good man," Virgil said approvingly. He relaxed.

He and John turned their attention back to the compound.

Twenty yards away stood a group of about thirty very large, very tough lifers, armed with stones, baseball bats and belts. They looked quite angry.

"This guy botherin' you, Johnnie?" asked Jerome.

…

Gordon, sporting desert fatigues, wormed his way to the perimeter fence on his belly, squirming a little against the heat of the sand. He pulled his sand-colored cap down firmly so that no sand-colored hair was showing.

He was very careful to avoid the gaze of the guards in the watchtower, though they were more interested in watching the prisoners inside the compound than they were in looking out for potential threats coming at them from out of the desert. As it happened, there was a surprising amount of cover.

Gordon watched from behind a rock, until attention was firmly on the baseball game taking place in the exercise yard, then sprinted the last twenty yards or so. He flung himself flat so that he blended into the surroundings, and reached into his pack.

He'd worked with C4 and other plastic explosives, but hadn't been able to get any in a hurry. No matter. Brains had been experimenting with lots of new substances. This new material would do the trick just as well.

He measured out the amount Brains had recommended, then looked at the container and shrugged. Better safe than sorry. He measured out a bit more, then tossed in the rest of it for good measure. What the hell. He fixed the detonator carefully.

There was some kind of a commotion on the far side of the bleachers, making Gordon glance up sharply. The guards' attention was caught too. Gordon took the opportunity to glide away silently back into the desert.

…